


Thrill Seeking

by Vialana



Category: Bleach
Genre: Bloodplay, Fighting As Foreplay, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-02
Updated: 2007-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-11 12:46:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vialana/pseuds/Vialana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What fascinated Ichigo most about Renji was his passion. He desperately wanted to touch that passion, be a part of it — be wrapped in it. He wanted to feel how Renji felt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thrill Seeking

It began with blood and rage and slick feral grins.

Half the time Ichigo wasn’t even aware he was moving in retaliation. He could recall, with perfect clarity, every single motion the body opposite his made. Hypnotic swaying from side to side to evade sharp touches, looming thrusts forward and graceful dancing back. Every shift of muscle sounded like laughter: amused and delighted and teasing and excited. And Ichigo could barely consider that he was the instigating cause of it all.

Blades crashed, clothes ripped, skin tore.

Clang and clash and slash and swish.

They moved in rhythm to a rising tempo. Heat rising, sweat dripping, blood flowing, feet dancing, arms swinging, bodies swaying, hearts pumping, breath panting, eyes glaring. Striking again and again, dashing to meet each other, a hit, pain and euphoria mingling, rushing past to turn and do it all again.

There was no room in the world for anything but this crashing tide of battle; no one else in the world that mattered but the other — the opponent, the partner, deliverer of death with his sharp eyes and wicked smile.

The final blow: sharp sliding and spurting — collapsing into limp limbs still warm and sizzling with the rhythm, the tempo of their breaths slowing to gulps as they drowned in their feelings and slick bodies.

Ichigo leaned his forehead against the hilt of his zanpakutou, chest heaving as he tried to regain himself. His mind was sliding back from that defined yet blind edge of battle-haze and the world around him sharpened into focus and colour. He tried to calm his racing mind and heart, but a single glance at his sparring partner almost sent him back into that delicious blur of instinct and undiluted emotion.

Hair dripping like blood over his shoulders, fading over his chest into sweat droplets caught between the grooves of muscle. His teeth were still bared in a snarling grin, voice ready to howl at any moment. Limbs stretched out, kinks in muscles, sinew sliding beneath skin and displacing the falling ripped cloth of the black uniform even further. Narrowed eyes turned to Ichigo, still intense and feral, and Ichigo's breath caught at the whole picture the motions made.

With a blink and a sharp flick of the head, the emotions disappeared. Ichigo almost fell at the release of the tension in the air, but caught himself before he was noticed as being too caught up in the moment to even realise what had finished.

Another grin, less deadly but still sharp and amused. A few words and a hearty slap on the shoulder. Ichigo was still reeling from the reflections of the battle he’d fought still raging inside him. He could only stare, unmoving, a twist of the head the only indication he was listening to his partner at all.

Worried questioning snapped him out of it and he snarled back in embarrassment. A teasing remark and everything was back to status quo.

Only, it really wasn’t.

Ichigo watched Renji walking back to the bathhouse near their chosen Sereitei training ground, still reliving that heavy body atop his own, lashing out and pressing down, that bloodthirsty gaze stripping him down to his rawest state of feeling and pushing Ichigo to react with all the innermost strength he could muster.

Ichigo closed his eyes and tried to dispel the sensory thoughts.

He still couldn’t help anticipating their next encounter with every still-tingling fibre of his being.  
  
  
  
  
  
Again they clashed with sharp swords and heavy bodies. It played out almost identical to before. Pinpoint-pupils, snarling grins, ecstatic laughter, taunting brushes, heavy blows. Ichigo lost himself completely in the sensation once again. Lost himself in the fight, in the emotion, the raw passion and power that the other held — that _together_ they both held, whether opposed or allied. Whatever the situation, he knew that no other could make him feel so alive in battle, so unbridled and joyous.

Because the man trading blows knew exactly how he felt when he fought. They were startlingly similar at times.

And yet Ichigo still craved to know more.

Desired to sink his teeth into Renji’s heart.

Wanted to run his fingertips over tensed muscle.

Longed to taste that power and surety in his motions.

Ichigo just wanted …

Without thought, only instinct ruling his mind and body, Ichigo thrust forward, seizing the advantage with a move that took his opponent off-guard. Only the barest fraction of a second, but battles such as theirs had been decided in less at times. Ichigo didn’t hesitate, moving in closer for the kill — a move Renji wouldn’t see coming and one Ichigo had been desperate to try the instant he first imagined it.

Renji’s lips were cracked and dry, yet slick with sweat. The pressure of Ichigo’s own split lips must have been agonising in its unwanted friction. He almost expected blood to start flowing from the touch alone. The kiss was brutal and painful, more of an attack than a gesture of affection. Affection wasn’t something Ichigo was concerned with. Passion was. In Ichigo’s mind, passion had always been somewhat linked to pain, to battle, to impulse and instinct.

In that sense, their kiss was perfect.

Renji didn’t waste time in retaliating. The thrust of his tongue was as sharp as his blade and just as powerful and dominating. His free hand yanked sharply on the thick strands of Ichigo’s hair and the grunt of pain Ichigo released into their joined mouths made him grin.

Ichigo’s passivity after his initial attack didn’t last and he replied with a tight grip on Renji’s waist that was enough to cause a flinch and would likely leave a bruise. His lips mapped out that savage grin before he moved his own tongue in for a parry — the muscles now locked together as tightly as their skin.

Their bodies slid sinuously against each other; the ripped fabric of both their uniforms rubbing against the skin of the other. Each time open tears came into contact they would both tense at the heated friction then resume their motions with more urgency.

Renji was the first to pull away, though he barely stirred, merely shifting his attack onto another target. Ichigo dared not breathe as the other man moved, especially not as the hot breath of the other shinigami travelled over the cooling sweat-slathered skin of his face to the junction of his neck and shoulders. Ichigo tensed, knowing what was coming — _wanting_ what was coming — but still not quite ready for the sensation just yet.

Sharp teeth sank into Ichigo’s soft skin and he cried out, pulling Renji even closer and undulating as the man then sucked hard on the wound. Feeling the other man’s tongue circle the inflamed and sensitive area, Ichigo couldn’t help crying out one more time.

" _Renji!_ "

Everything stilled and shattered with the sound of his voice.

The air was so cold against hot flesh suddenly separated from its source of heat — the other warm body. Ichigo could barely register what was happening and looked up through a red haze as the other man backed away with a tense posture and a confused look.

… What had happened to the passion from only an instant before? Its remnants were still tangible in their air that still crackled between them.

But the air was growing colder still as the distance between them increased further. Ichigo wanted to reach out, but Renji’s eyes didn’t seem focused — especially not on him — as he walked away. He tossed a vague smile and a casual wave over his shoulder, looking like a man who hadn’t the faintest idea of where he was at that moment.

Ichigo watched him walk away and let him go — preferring not to think of that perplexed gaze but rather of the scorching look Renji had locked onto him as they battled.

With that desired look in mind, Ichigo sank to the ground — hand fumbling at the folds of his hakama — and reached down to finish what Renji couldn’t.  
  
  
  
  
  
Their next battle wasn’t as long-awaited as Ichigo had expected. He’d been anticipating a drawn-out lull between them, but Renji returned as he usually did — with just as much enthusiasm and bloodlust as he always had. Ichigo couldn’t help stirring at the sight of such passion for battle and it was he who made the first attack, armed with a cocky smirk.

Their blows were still as fast and strong and lethal as usual.

Nothing had changed, and yet everything had.

It was just a minor shift in thinking, something barely noticed.

Ichigo had taken too long in analysing exactly what had transpired and, with a startled yell, realised that Renji had drawn first blood.

His fingers traced over the wound along his jaw-line. So close to the jugular. So close to death. So intoxicating.

Renji seemed to find it so too. Ichigo watched the other man as his eyes trailed down Ichigo’s neck — following the path of the flowing blood shamelessly. When the liquid started to pool in the hollow of Ichigo’s collarbone, Renji licked his lips and Ichigo used his distraction against him to retaliate — the tip of his zanpakutou catching on Renji’s cheek.

This time Renji was the one to cry out and step back, gingerly touching the wound and staring at the blood on his fingertips curiously.

Ichigo moved closer and Renji immediately raised his blade, but Ichigo wasn’t aiming for his body. He grabbed the hand with blood-stained fingers and sucked the liquid from them. Renji’s eyes widened and fixed on Ichigo’s own determined gaze.

Their battle dance had changed once more and Ichigo was again with the advantage, but he knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

Renji still kissed the same — savagely, honestly, passionately. Ichigo could barely keep up with all the emotion that was pouring off the other man. He clung to tattered uniform, digging his nails into flesh and relishing the hiss of delighted pain. He almost didn’t want to keep up — wanting to savour every touch with his entire being — but hearing Renji respond just as desperately to his own motions was as intoxicating as the man’s sure fiery touch.

Ichigo stumbled backwards when Renji suddenly pushed at him. He almost snarled in frustration at being denied again, but Renji smirked and stared at him in such a way that Ichigo knew that denial was so far from both of their minds at the moment. Instead, he let the Renji manoeuvre him how he wished.

It was almost like a game of tit-for-tat at first. Renji sucked on the blood still dripping from the shallow wound on Ichigo’s throat. The same insistent motion that had Ichigo reeling previously. But this time Ichigo didn’t speak, yell out or disrupt their tiny ravenous world. He simply pushed himself closer and inhaled sharply every time Renji trailed his tongue over sensitive skin. It was torture and Ichigo couldn’t help reaching out and tugging on Renji’s bloody locks to pin their bodies even closer together.

Both of them groaned at the movement and no speech was necessary to understand exactly what the other wanted now.

Renji’s wet mouth and rasping tongue inflamed every available inch of Ichigo’s chest. Ichigo was surprised Renji still had any hair left attached to his scalp after all the sharp clinging that had complemented his actions. Their black robes had fallen from eager shoulders and lay pooled at their feet by the time Renji pulled himself back up to attack Ichigo’s mouth again.

Ichigo barely noticed, delirious with sensation as he was. The motion of a hot firm body pressed against his own over-sensitised skin had him panting and moaning and grinding closer, mindless and anxious only for more. He thought he heard a chuckle against his throat, but all he could sense were the vibrations coursing through his entire body.

It only took one minor touch — the heavy pressure of a frantic hand against the rough cloth still restraining him — before he yelled out, voice hoarse and almost pained. There was nothing else in his world at that moment save for that single precious touch. Ichigo wanted that singularity to last forever — he wanted to stay trapped in this moment of pleasure eternally with only that bare link to something else, that rough heavy touch burning with a fire that could only be described as _Renji_.

But it was that same thought that drew him back from the abyss of perfection to look upon the one who had brought him to that brink of absolute delight. He looked directly into Renji’s eyes and shuddered — almost brought right back to that brink again.

Desire, want, need, passion — it was all in his eyes, written on his face, in that snarling smirk of victory. That look that Renji always had after their always satisfying fights; the one that said to Ichigo, _“This is everything I live for.”_ It was a look, Ichigo finally realised in that moment, that belonged completely to _him_.

Their battles, Renji’s passion.

All for him.

He smiled, a mirror of Renji’s expression, and without a word told Renji that the exact same applied to him.

This was their battle, their passion.

Ichigo pressed his body so close to Renji’s that they almost could be considered one and kissed him — taking his own prize from their battle even as he let Renji take his.

Theirs was not a battle made for losing.


End file.
